


Kid Cipher

by soulscarcity13 (xXxdumpsterfirexXx)



Category: Gravity Falls, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Blood, Cults, Gen, Gore, No Romance, No shipping, Old Fic, Violence, all that edgy stuff, but it was fun when i first wrote it and a lot of folks seemed to enjoy it as well, harry is raised by bill cipher, kid cipher, oh yeah and human!bill sometimes not often, some of it is tasteless i'll admit, these kids be killin, yeah i was really sad and mad all the time in 2015 so this happened
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-08 00:24:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 14,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20826296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xXxdumpsterfirexXx/pseuds/soulscarcity13
Summary: On a whim, Bill Cipher takes a short break and returns to Gravity Falls with the young Harry Potter under his arm. Ten years later, Harry arrives at Hogwarts with a love of physical pain, a stash of severed heads, and dexterity in demon magic. Originally posted on fanfiction.net.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> ok so if y'all don't know this was a fic i wrote back in 2015 and never finished. the reason it went untouched for so long was bc i thought i'd try my hand at beta-reading - which, to make a long fuckin' story short, went terribly. i got so frustrated i deleted the email tied to my ff.net account (the person i was beta-ing for had it and i didn't want them talking to me anymore lol i have great coping skills) and stopped writing my edgy hp/gf murder cult fanfic entirely.
> 
> i checked back in on it every now and then and would take a look at the comments and get stabbed in the chest with melancholy when i saw everyone wondering about updates and asking if it was on ao3 and stuff. so yeah. now it's on ao3. and if i keep my wits about me, it'll be updated one day soon as well.
> 
> IF U ARE NEW TO MY EDGY HP/GF MURDER CULT FANFIC
> 
> i wrote this when i was sad, angry, and 16, so there's some stuff in here that's just dumb and tasteless - in particular harry's meeting with bellatrix (oh my god oh no spoilers oh jesus FIC RUINED oh GAWDDD). i thought it was funny four years ago, i really just find it weird and kinda gross now. but i wanted to just reupload my dumb fic in it's original glory, so save for grating author's notes, this fic - typos, shitty ocs, repetitive narration, awkward azkaban encounter and all - is as it was originally posted.
> 
> thanks for reading if u did, pls don't bully me for the bellatrix meeting.
> 
> \- luigi

One last strangled cry from an adult, and the continued screeching of a wee babe.

His curiosity was piqued. The man's screams were squandered, but the baby lived on? Bill got a strange feeling, and it turned to glee as he floated into what was undoubtedly a nursery. "Dark magic!" he exclaimed happily, recognizing the power still echoing off the walls. "Oh, you wizards always know how to make my day." Bill leaned over to examine the pulpy mess that was, until recently, a wizard. He emitted a low whistling sound. "Smells like this guy was dealing in souls."

Bill had a little experience with souls, himself.

Chuckling fondly, Bill took a moment to inspect the baby. Its – well, 'his', if you want to be pedantic about it – forehead was bleeding profusely. Tutting, Bill summoned a cow-tongue to lick the blood away. With the mess gone, Bill could see the thin, lightning bolt-shaped scar. With his powers, he could see the insane darkness settling inside the child. "Wonderful!" crooned Bill. He grabbed the baby by his clothes and tucked it under his arm. "You'll make for one dandy lackey, once I fatten you up."

Bill took a moment to entertain a certain mental image: those Pines and that McGucket nerd, trying to hold him down and restrain him, when suddenly – BAM! A baby filled to the brim with a psychopath's soul is chucked at them. The daydream evolved to show the infant blasting them with magic, and Bill giggled.

"You and me, kid, we're going places," commented Bill. Eager to return to Gravity Falls and teach his new assistant every thing he could about the Darkest – not just 'Dark' – Arts, Bill opened a wormhole and floated through. By this time, the baby had stopped crying and seemed content to go wherever the strange, triangular stranger took him.

Not two minutes later, a greasy-haired man burst into the room and looked around wildly, eyes resting on the corpse of Lily Potter. A strangled sob escaped his throat, and Severus Snape went to her. It wasn't until a fair five minutes afterwards that he realized there was no Harry Potter to be found.


	2. Chapter One

Hermione couldn't tell if she was nervous, excited, or both. Hogwarts! She was finally going. She and her parents had spotted a wizard family and followed them through the gateway to Platform 9 ¾, and now they didn't know what to do. Well, that was not exactly correct. The Grangers knew they had to kiss their daughter goodbye, lug her trunk onto that beautiful red steam engine, and leave the way they came, but as it was they could only gawk.

"This is amazing," Hermione said under her breath, her eyes jumping from magical family to magical family, mentally taking notes on their customs and apparent social norms. There was so much to learn here.

During this excited session of observation, Hermione's keen eyes spotted something peculiar behind a brick pillar. One moment, a red-clad wizard was passing normally. But as soon as he was gone, there seemed to be a portal of some sort opening. It was like space itself was being ripped open. Inside, she could see it was a muddled mess of black, purple, and other dark colors.

Before she could even close her mouth, a boy popped out. Judging by his age and his trunk, he was a Hogwarts student. He was a funny character – just a short little boy, in black pants and a yellow-gold vest, with a smart little bow tie. Hermione watched, fascinated, as he appeared to speak at the portal. It closed, and the boy swaggered toward the Hogwarts Express as if he did so every other morning.

Hermione wondered if he did. If so, there was a lot more to this magical world she could ever have dreamed possible.

She was satisfied to see him hop onto the train. Maybe she could ask him things on the way to Hogwarts?

Hermione shared a tearful goodbye with her parents, and at ten fifty-five o'clock, she hopped onto the Hogwarts Express. Driven by her curiosity, Hermione immediately began searching for the strange Hogwarts student. Unsurprisingly, it did not take long at all. She found him lounging alone in a compartment, humming quietly to himself.

"Excuse me, may I sit here? Thanks," she said busily, not waiting for a response. She wasted no time putting her trunk on the luggage rack, and sat across from the boy. Hermione extended her hand. "My name's Hermione Granger."

The boy looked at her, and as Hermione's eyes passed over his forehead, she realized who he was. "My goodness, you're Harry Potter," Hermione breathed. Her enthusiasm increased tenfold. She practically launched herself across the compartment to sit beside him. "I've read all about you, how you killed You-Know-Who when you were just a baby-"

She was interrupted by a fond laugh. "Talking about how many people I've killed right off the bat, eh? I like that in a woman," Harry Potter snickered. His accent was foreign to Hermione – she identified it as American.

"Have you been staying in America all these years? Did you stay with wizards and witches? What are they like over there?" she asked hurriedly.

Hermione vaguely noted how he seemed to never blink and had a perpetual smile. Eye contact and a pleasant expression? How nice. "I stayed in a strange little town called Gravity Falls, Oregon," he said airily. Harry moved on before Hermione could pester him further. "Do you want a hand?"

She was perplexed. "A hand? What makes you-?" Before the question was completely articulated, Harry Potter, the esteemed Boy-Who-Lived, seemed to produce a twitching, bleeding, human hand out of nowhere.

When he tapped her on the nose with it, her scream was heard throughout the Hogwarts Express. However, it was mistaken for the train's whistle, which at that moment screeched loudly to indicate that they were, in fact, going to Hogwarts.

It was going to be a long ride.


	3. Chapter Two

After two hours, several bribes, and an awkward hug, Harry managed to regain Hermione's trust and when the time came, she willingly ("willingly") clambered into a boat with him. They were shortly joined by a thin, pale, blond boy and his two pet gorillas.

"I'd heard that Harry Potter would be joining us this year," he said, sneering but obviously trying to be endearing. He extended a petite and manicured hand. "I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

Harry's own introduction was interrupted by Hagrid ordering one of them to get off the little boat – only four were allowed, and five had squeezed into the craft. Draco scowled and shooed on of his goons away. "Hullo, Malfoy," Harry replied. "Would you like a goat carcass?"

Draco's face went blank, and Harry privately thought he looked agreeable enough without the smug expression. Like a young princess. "A goat carcass?" parroted Draco.

"He's probably serious," warned Hermione, shuddering at the memory of the disembodied hand. After their companionship was mended, Harry had literally coughed it up and bestowed it upon her. The hand now sat snugly between her extra reading material and spare robes, in the bottom of her trunk.

"Uh, no thank you?" tried Draco.

Suddenly, a large, hairy, stinky body was shoved into Draco's arms. "I insist," Harry insisted. "Goat carcasses are excellent ingredients for many spells. I believe it is because goats are so often likened to Satan himself. Their carcasses are jam-packed with magical potential – why, one goat carcass is enough to ensnare the senses of over a dozen virgins. And just think of what you could do with a dozen virgins!"

Draco realized that Harry Potter had just given him a dead goat, and, in a panic, shoved the cadaver into the lake, where it was snatched up by the squid and tossed back into the boat. Harry laughed joyfully, Hermione's face went green, and Draco seemed to get even paler.

Draco shared a short and befuddled expression with Crabbe (for Goyle had been excused from the boat), and turned his face back to Harry. "Thanks," he mumbled, momentarily glaring down at the now-sopping wet goat carcass in his lap. "But I digress. I see you've made a little friend there. Well, I've never seen the likes of her before in my life."

"My name's Hermione Granger," Hermione offered. "I'm Muggle-Born."

Draco's sneer intensified, and he began acting as if she wasn't there. "I say, Potter. It seemed you've went ahead and made all the wrong friends first thing. Don't worry, I can help you."

Harry smiled pleasantly, ignoring Hermione's indignant gasp. "Oh, no thank you, Malfoy. If I make too many friends, I'll run out of gifts to signify the dawning of a grand new companionship."

It seemed the Draco was distressed. "Potter, by 'gifts', do you mean dead goats?" he asked. Harry nodded vigorously. "I... I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you can't go around giving people dead things. It's- It's weird. Far too eccentric for someone with a reputation such as yours. Give away chocolate or ribbons or something."

"But goats are functional," protested Harry. "And hands- hands can be used in a number of poisonous concoctions. I can list twenty spells and potions right now where a goat or a hand is a vital part of its creation."

"It's still weird," insisted Draco.

Realization dawned on Harry, it seemed. "Oh, you're one of those normal humans, aren't you?" Harry said. It seemed it was his turn to sneer. "I admit, when Bill said I'd be going to wizard school, I didn't think I'd meet normal humans. Looks like I was wrong." The ominous edge on Harry's voice created a crease of worry on Draco's forehead. The pale boy looked to Crabbe for assistance, but all the gorilla could do was shrug.

Harry grabbed the goat away from Draco, glaring just a bit, and stroked its head lovingly. Not a moment later, his jaw seemed to unhinge and he swallowed the goat whole. While Crabbe and Draco stared in horror, Hermione turned her head to the side and threw up into the lake.

All three of them, Draco, Crabbe, and Hermione, were unspeakably grateful when it was finally time to get off the boat.


	4. Chapter Three

The Sorting Hat was rarely curious before being placed on somebody's head, but gazing out into the crowd of fresh Hogwarts students, he couldn't help but wonder about the one in the yellow-gold vest and bowtie. He organized the students as he always did, but kept his metaphorical eye on the one in the yellow. When it was finally that one's turn, the Sorting Hat saw a definite reason as to why that one was so odd.

_Harry Potter, eh? _the Hat mused as the boy took a seat on the stool. It would be interesting to see what was going on in the boy's mind...

McGonagall, regarding Harry's attire apprehensively, placed the Sorting Hat on Harry's head of unruly hair. The scream that followed would chill the blood of Voldemort himself. And it did, underneath Quirrell's turban.

The Sorting Hat could no longer see the world around him. His mind was flooded with horrid, sickening images – pure men and women, children, and the saintly subjected to the most dehumanizing and cruel tortures. He saw a woman being raped by a goat in the middle of a pentagram, the nude bodies of her loved ones on pikes around her.

He saw children feasting upon the carcasses of their parents and wild animals. He saw Harry Potter, carving crude images onto the backs of sleeping orphans and the ailed. A burning hospital, atop which Harry lounged aside a- a-

The cruelest and most dastardly kind of creature every to roam the mortal plane or the Hells Beneath. The Sorting Hat knew its name, which Harry had always called it by with respect and even love.

Bill Cipher.

It was too much. The images only got worse and worse, and the Sorting Hat genuinely feared for what was left of his sanity. Luckily, McGonagall had recovered and knocked the Hat off Harry's head.

This was when the Hat realized he was screaming. Had he been capable of tears, the Hat would have been sobbing by now. As it was, he shook uncontrollably, and was glad when McGonagall's gentle arms picked him up.

"Headmaster!" managed the Hat, his magical voice hoarse from screaming.

Dumbledore was already standing. "Yes?" he prompted.

"Speak with you- Private- _Now. _Bring the- the-" His flap of a mouth twisted into a fearful and disgusted grimace. "Bring the _Hellchild."_

Concerned and curious, Dumbledore gestured for Harry to follow him. McGonagall, Sorting Hat in her hands, trailed not far behind. The Great Hall watched them disappear through the side door, each noting individually how Harry seemed to be unfazed. Draco, despite his upbringing, found himself theorizing enthusiastically with Hermione – the only other one in the room whom had met Harry prior to entering Hogwarts. The other Gryffindors, old and new, weren't too thrilled about having a Malfoy approach their table, but they had to admit that Draco had some pretty cool ideas about Harry Potter.

It wasn't long before the entire student body was openly and loudly wondering what in the name of Merlin's mother had happened. Even Snape was starting to hazard guesses – he and Pamora Sprout had constructed an intricate and ludicrous theory by the time Dumbledore, McGonagall, Harry and the Hat returned.

Snape watched them like a hawk. Ten years ago, when he'd gone to Godric's Hallow to investigate, Harry Potter had not been among the bodies in the house. He wondered where he'd been for the past decade, and what the hell he had been doing.

Dumbledore, an oddly tense hand on Harry's extremely relaxed shoulder, magically projected his voice when he spoke. The Hall was silent.

"In lieu of recently discovered variables, I, Professor McGonagall, and above all the Sorting Hat have come to a momentous decision," Dumbledore said. "Harry Potter will not be sorted into any of our current and historical Houses."

The bated silence of the Great Hall erupted into unnecessarily loud inquiries and objections. Dumbledore raised his hand for silence. "Due to my own desire to have Mr. Potter attend Hogwarts, and the Sorting Hat's inability-" By this, he meant 'unwillingness', "-to place him in Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, or Slytherin, we have decided to institute an entirely new Hogwarts House."

Dumbledore waited for the noise to die down again, and beamed at Snape from halfway across the table. The greasy man was bending all the cutlery with just his thumb and his outrage. It amused Dumbledore. At last, it was quiet, and Dumbledore continued: "It is my great honor to announce the installment of House..." He trailed off, and gave a small laugh, completely oblivious to the frustrated and confused faces all around him. "Well, we haven't decided a name yet. I'll get back to you all on that."

McGonagall took over. "Professor Trelawney was appointed to be the Head of this House," she informed them. "As there is currently only one student, this new House will not participate in Quidditch, but will still take part in the competition for the House Cup."

McGonagall conjured a small table off to the side, by the Gryffindor table, and Harry was directed over there. The Sorting Ceremony continued, but the Hat seemed almost in a daze from then on.

The question would be on the lips of almost every student and faculty member for the next several years: just what had been going on in Harry Potter's head that day? If there was a just god in their world, none of them would ever have to find out.


	5. Chapter Four

Hermione loved all her new classes, but when the weekend came, she was exceedingly grateful for the extra rest. It was nearly ten o'clock when Hermione's eyes finally began to open, and when they did, she let out a surprised scream.

"Good morning, sunshine!" chirped Harry. He snatched Hermione 'round the arm and bit at the air. With a jerk of the head, a strange portal – like the one Hermione had seen at the train station – appeared, and without wasting a breath of air or a tick of time, Harry jumped in. Hermione was dragged in behind him, her shriek forgotten in the girls' dormitories.

Suddenly, there was warm sunshine on her face, and grass beneath her feet. Harry helped her stand. When she was on her feet, Hermione swooned a bit, and feared she would hurl. Luckily, she kept her stomach under control. The moment she had her bearings, she boxed her strange friend around the ear.

"Hey!" Harry objected.

"You swine – what were you doing?" Hermione demanded scathingly.

Harry looked pitiful. "I wanted to show you my home," he admitted. "You haven't got any classes today, right? So we can spend all day here, right? Right?"

Hermione finally realized that they weren't anywhere near Hogwarts. "Where are we?" she demanded, beginning to panic. She looked around, a crease of worry on her forehead, trying to make sense of the lush, warm forest around her.

"Gravity Falls, Oregon," explained Harry. "Come on, let's go to town!"

Harry hooked his arm around Hermione's and began leading her away. "Town?" she echoed, and then blushed. She was still in her pajamas and – ouch! - she didn't even have any shoes. Harry seemed to realize this, and hummed in thought.

"Bam!" he said, clapping his hands at her.

A dark muck wrapped around her body, but was gone as quickly as it had come. With its disappearance, Hermione's attire had changed. She had a vest and dress shirt to match Harry's – even a bowtie – a black skirt and the most expensive-looking shoes that had ever touched her feet. She felt overdressed, but when she said so, Harry just laughed. "You can never be too overdressed! Besides, we aren't here to fit in – come on! If we hurry, you can meet the Pines-swine!"

Hand-in-hand, Harry dragged Hermione through the trees. Before long, they were walking arm-in-arm down the middle of a street. Hermione stared at the buildings around her, coming to terms with the fact that Harry had just transported her into an entirely different country from her bedside.

A thought occurred to her. "Harry, what about the time-difference?"

"I used a little space-time rift – don't worry, I'll get you back to Hogwarts in time for lunch. Anyway, there's McGucket! He's a joy, c'mon-" Harry broke away from Hermione and began running across the pavement in leaps and bounds.

Distraught, Hermione went after him. "HARRY!" she called. He was running at a little, sleep-deprived man in a suit.

The man spotted Harry running at him, and his face went white. He bolted, but Harry was faster. Harry jumped, and landed on the man. He wrapped his legs around his neck and gave a joyous laugh. "The thrill of the hunt, eh, McGucket?" laughed Harry. Hermione's legs were sore by the time she caught up, but that was the least of her worries.

"Harry Potter!" she shrieked, grabbing Harry by the back of the shirt and pulling him off McGucket. McGucket scrambled back, white-faced and exceedingly freaked-out. "What in the name of Merlin is_ wrong _with you? That was assault! You can't just do that – it's – it's inappropriate! It's awful! Apologize to that poor man right _now!"_

* * *

McGucket's heart was pounding. It was that kid – Kid Cipher, he called himself. That child had been a strong source of confusion and torment for damn-near a decade. After nearly a week of silence, McGucket had dared to think that the little demon had gotten bored with Gravity Falls.

When the tyrant had jumped at him and tried to strangled him with his legs, McGucket had realized what a foolish assumption that had been.

But, what of the girl? 'Harry Potter', she'd called him...

"I am so sorry, sir," she said, stooping to help McGucket stand. "I don't know if this a regular occurrence, and with Harry, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised if it is, but- oh, Merlin, I hope you're not too upset. I'm so sorry, and I'm sure Harry is, too-"

"Am not," huffed Kid Cipher.

It was the first time McGucket had heard the boy speak in a tone that was not cruel, mocking, or head-splitting in its joyousness. The girl turned on him, red-faced and with hellfire in her eyes. Looking reluctant, Cipher muttered, "Sorry, McGucket."

Oh, Christ. That was an unusual development.

"I'm so sorry for this," the girl said again. She gave McGucket's hand a firm, apologetic shake, and said farewell. She left, dragging Kid Cipher along with her. Her knuckles were white, she held his arm so firmly. McGucket watched them as they went.

_I should tell Stanley and Stanford about this, _he thought, still shaking as he turned around and began walking to the Pines' shack in the woods.


	6. Chapter Five

Water from the sky and sea alike smashed and pelted Azkaban's walls, as it had for years and years before. Liquid seeped through the thick stone, making it look as if the walls were sweating. Thunder boomed like great drums in the sky. Lightning struck with the wrath of a million warlords from beyond.

Bellatrix Lestrange was all too used to the destructive nature that thrived around Azkaban. She lay still in her cell, sweating despite the cold, staring off into the distance. A dementor floated in the corner, and she couldn't shake the feeling that it was staring at her. It was impossible for a dementor to do such a thing, of course, for they hadn't any eyes.

Bellatrix turned over to gaze at the ceiling instead. Drops of water fell onto her face, but she hardly noticed.

"Funny place for a lady, isn't it?"

It was the first time in many years that Bellatrix had heard a voice other than her own. She jumped, startled, eyes wild, and searched for the source. Now in the corner, where the dementor had been previously, stood a young boy. His hair was dark and disheveled, and he was dressed in a smart golden vest and bow-tie.

"Then again," he continued, his eyes suddenly focusing in Bellatrix, "you're hardly a lady, now aren't you?"

"Who are you?" snarled Bellatrix, backing against the wall of her cell.

The boy approached, wrapping his pale hands around the bars. "I have many names," he hissed. "Lord Klyfon, the Scratcher, the Snatcher, The Thing That Slices In The Night, Kid Cipher, Little Billy... The one that holds meaning to you, I think, would be the Boy-Who-Lived."

Bellatrix's eyes widened, then narrowed, disgust slathered across her face. "Harry Potter." She spat the 'P'.

Harry smiled and snapped his fingers. "Bingo!" He seemed much more sociable now that his name – or at least one of them – had been spoken. Now smiling warmly, he went on, "Formalities aside, Bella, let's talk _business."_

The following laughter was loud and humorless, and echoed all throughout Azkaban.

"Me?" snickered Bellatrix darkly. "Do business with _you?_ I'd rather rot here until I die."

Harry shrugged, and turned towards the exit. Bellatrix screamed at him about the return of the Dark Lord as he went. She stopped and glared when Harry paused in the doorway. He didn't say anything, just turned towards the vacant corner. Harry began to heave, and Bellatrix's eyes widened as his jaw unhinged and something dark and wet and cold emerged...

Harry coughed up the dementor, smacked his lips, and went through the door.

If Bellatrix was asked the next day why she did it, she wouldn't have been able to answer. As if she wasn't in control of her own body, Bellatrix called out to Harry, "Wait!"

He obliged. "So glad you came around, Trixy," Harry said, smiling, as he came back to Bellatrix's cell. The dementor, it seemed, had fled from the scene. "To the matter at hand: You're in prison."

"Bloody brilliant, aren't you?" grumbled Bellatrix darkly, her lips pulled back into a snarl.

"Bloody brilliant, indeed. You know why? Because I can get you out of here," Harry said. Bellatrix tried to hide the light in her eyes, but Harry missed nothing. He went on, "And I can do more. I can reunite you with your Dark Lord. I can bring him to power. I can give you abilities you never even _dared_ dream of having. I'm willing to do anything you ask – anything at all."

It was too good to be true, and Bellatrix said so.

"It's good you're such a realistic woman, Bella. Of course I'm not doing this for free. I require only _small_ compensation for my services – nothing major, I'm not needy, but there is a balance to maintain," Harry explained, waving his hands as if they were either side of a scale.

"What do you want from me?"

"Not what I want from you – what I want with you. _Big _difference," Harry said, emphasizing his words very carefully. "What I want with you is – well, it's a bit embarrassing, actually – what I want is access to your body."

The following silence was the longest and most deafening Bellatrix had heard in her life. Harry, on the other hand, had heard much more deafening silences in his lifetime, and wasn't phased by this current one. "What?"

"You heard me. Access to your body, whenever I ask for it. In return, I can restore Lord Voldemort to power, put you on his arm, and grant you whatever power you desire. Fair trade? Huh? Is it? Seems fair enough to me."

By now Bellatrix was ignoring him. How old was Harry Potter? If the tally marks she'd scratched into the wall with her fingernails were at all accurate, he would be about eleven now. Did boys hit puberty so young? Bellatrix wasn't sure. What she did know was that Harry Potter was asking for free access to... her body. Whenever he wanted it. It was the dumbest thing she'd ever heard.

And in return...

"Okay, how's this," she said, coming close to the bars, "you restore my Lord to his full power. You put me at his side. And I want the powers of a dementor. And wealth. And a beautiful mansion. And if you fulfill all of those wishes, you can have... access... to me."

Harry clapped his hands, smiling broadly. Bellatrix didn't like his smile. It was too wide, showed off too many teeth. "Bellatrix, I wouldn't have it any other way. I give you your Dark Lord, your freedom, dementor magic, money and an mansion, and you will give me access to your body. Only one last thing to do, then." Harry extended his land through the bars, and Bellatrix's eyes widened as it was engulfed in cold, blue flame. "Shake on it. Seal the deal."

Bellatrix swallowed hard, and took his hand.


	7. Chapter Six

Harry had cleared Professor Trelawney's copious rugs out of the way, and was sketching on the floor with white chalk. His "common room" was actually a closet of moderate size off of Trelawney's classroom. A quick password spell and a bed, and the thing was the perfect sleeping-space for Harry Potter.

However, it was too small for much else. Harry was a creature of many hobbies, most of which involved bloated carcasses and lots of knives, and cramped spaces hindered his ability to effectively indulge in his pass-times. Lucky for Harry, Trelawney was lax enough to permit him to use her classroom for his hobbies. Way she saw it, he would be dead in a month anyway, so what harm was there in humoring him?

As Harry sketched intricate runes on the floor, Trelawney bit her lip and frowned at her student. "Mister Potter... I've only been the Head of your House for a week now, but don't you think it's about time you, you know, attend some of your classes?"

Harry paused, stooped over on the other half of the room. "Professor, you're concerns are well-placed, given your current title and the responsibilities that come with it. But I assure you, my time is wasted in a classroom. I have _work _to do. I'll go to class when it's time for my cult to start recruiting, or if I need to talk to Professor Quirrell. In the meantime, I have..."

Suddenly, Harry checked his watch and gasped. "Smack my ass and call me Sally!" he exclaimed. He pocketed the chalk and made for the door. "Forget what I just said, I need to go talk to Professor Quirrell now. Don't mess with my work, Professor! Ta-ta!"

Trelawney's mouth opened and closed. She hadn't foreseen Harry's sudden departure, which was odd because she actually did foresee a lot of things. She idly wondered if Severus or Minerva had problems like these. The Seer opted to let Harry's behavior slide for now, and instead went back to musing over names and colors for the House.

* * *

Meanwhile, Harry strode through Hogwarts with the utmost confidence. As he walked, he adjusted his bowtie. Wouldn't want to look silly when he met Lord Voldemort, now would he?

Ah, Voldemort. What a nutcase. Harry had to admit, he looked forward to finally meeting the guy. For years he'd been keeping tabs on the man's soul fragments, stalking them, learning from them, and finally he got to meet the most intact hunk of Tom Riddle's soul that remained.

Harry came to Quirrell's classroom and welcomed himself in. It was dinnertime, so all the students were eating – duh – but Quirrell had quickly taken to eating by himself in his office. Harry assumed this was because he was harboring a large chunk of Lord Voldemort on his person.

In any case, Harry pranced right up to Quirrell's office, pausing only to make sure his vest wasn't goofed up. He didn't bother knocking, just barged in with a loud, "Hello!"

Quirrell squeaked and knocked his dinner onto the floor, managing to jump behind his chair and whip out his wand at the same time. When he saw that it was Harry, he seemed to physically relax, but Harry was certain that only made him feel worse. "M-Mister P-P-Potter," stammered Quirrell.

"P-P-Professor," Harry said mockingly. He grinned widely. "Evening to you, but I'm afraid I'm a little pressed for time. I've got an obligation to acknowledge, you see, so I need to speak to your master."

"M-Mas-?" Quirrell began to stutter, but Harry wanted to take care of his end of the deal quickly. He didn't have time to play pretend with some kind of pseudo-coward.

"Yes, your master – the esteemed Lord Voldemort, if I am not incorrect. I need to talk to him about restoring him to his former glory and him marrying Bellatrix Lestrange. Don't waste my time – I have _lots_ of work to do, so let's see him," Harry went on, tone very busy indeed.

Quirrell's face was as white as snow – the sludgy stuff on the sides of the road – and he seemed to be about to object. But a new voice spoke before him, raspy and lisping, definitely male and very, very weak. "_Quirrell, no... let me speak to him..."_

"But, sir," objected Quirrell.

"_Silence! Let me speak with the boy."_ Quirrell was unwilling to show off Voldemort, but defiance would mean punishment.

Harry smiled something small and sickly as Quirrell unwrapped his turban.

* * *

"It's quick! It's simple! It's highly beneficial! Join the New Religion, led by our esteemed savior, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and birth-giver of Hogwarts history!" Fred Weasley called, his tone highly persuasive, waving hand-made and magic-copied fliers over his head.

"For the affordable price of three drops of your own blood, sufficient proof of virginity, and your soul, you may join the New Religion taking the world by storm!" George declared, offering buttons to passing students. "Join the New Religion! Be showered in riches, knowledge, powers previously unfathomable, all for the small price of your soul! Well, and your virginity and your blood... But all of those you should have already anyway! What are you doing with them? Nothing - that's what I thought."

Harry sat outside in the courtyard, watching as the twins pressed fliers into the hands of passerby. Watching as his influence slowly seeped into the student body. Beautiful.

"Well, Kid! It seems you haven't been wasting any time," observed a familiar voice.

Harry's eyes flickered up over his shoulder, where a familiar triangle floated with his little black hands on his entirely-metaphorical hips. "Already starting a cult?" whistled Bill Cipher. "New Religion, you said? It's good that you're in with the ginger crowd. Soulless husks like them make for nifty meatshields."

Harry emitted a low hum of agreement. "I know, I know... Say, Bill, any ideas on how to buy a house?"

Bill seemed a tad thrown off by the question. "I'm an inter-dimensional demon with knowledge of over a million years' worth of secrets and the power to bring any given human's worst fear to life behind their eyelids at night. What would I know about real estate?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Knowledge of over a million years' worth of secrets, and not one of them pertaining to the process of buying a house?" he sighed. "What have you been up to all these centuries?"

Bill pouted, but before he could formulate a response, Hermione showed up. "Harry Potter! It's been _three weeks_ and you haven't gone to any classes _at all. _How are you supposed to learn if you don't-" She stopped short when she saw Bill. "Oh, um, hello there. Are you Harry's... bro-ther?"

Bill and Harry laughed jovially. "Brother! Oh, that's rich," they said in unison. Bill took over, draping an arm over Hermione's shoulder. "No, no, no. Name's Bill Cipher. I'm more of a... godlord, master of immorality, teacher and breast-feeder. Demonic magic extraordinaire. Pleased to meetcha."

Hermione thought the 'breast-feeder' part was a bit odd, but did not openly question it.

"Ah," was all she said, before turning back to Harry. "But a _cult? _Instead of classes? I thought you were supposed to be attending classes with the Gryffindors. I haven't seen you anywhere. Professor Snape is halfway berserk, Professor McGonagall is so very disappointed, and poor, poor Professor Flitwick... It's a huge blow to his ego."

Bill rolled his eye and Harry sighed. "Is it because you feel left out, Hermione? Look, you're basically in the cult already – it's more just a soul I need anyway, so if you wanna pledge that to me real quick you can calm down..."

Hermione was red in the face. "Harry, you're impossible."

"Correction! He's improbable," Bill offered.

Hermione looked at him like she wasn't sure what to make of the magical tortilla chip, and returned to Harry. "Harry, I don't want to join any cult..."

"Your loss. The New Religion is gonna be _amazing."_

"... I want you to get a good, proper education," Hermione stated firmly. A bell tolled somewhere in the background, and she bit her lip. "I have classes to go to, and so do you, Harry. See you in Potions?" Her voice took on a hopeful tone that just tore up Harry's heart.

With that, the brunette scurried off. Harry and Bill shared a look, one long, pained look. "Go to her," Bill said softly, hand on his underling-thing's back. Harry rolled his eyes at Bill's dramatic tone, but did as he was ordered.

Harry wasn't a weakling, but disobeying Bill was even more dangerous than disobeying Voldemort. Flashier, too. More sparkles, more birds, and definitely more screaming.


	8. Chapter Seven

"_I know you're stronger than this."_

"_N-no, you're wrong. I can't do anything right. I'm only good at Herbology because Gran had me help her with her gardens..."_

"_Tut, tut! That's not what I mean."_

"_What do you mean, then?"_

"_You are a _wizard. _Even the weakest of our race possess the potential to rule the world. I'm not telling you to shirk everything you know about yourself, I'm just informing you that you're wasting yourself. Hey, do me a favor: For one day, be the kind of person you'd _like_ to be. Just pretend. I think you'll be surprised how well that skin will fit you. Oh, also, could you read something for me...?"_

* * *

_I hate children, _mused Snape as his Gryffindor/Slytherin firsties filed into their seats. Being a professor at Hogwarts offered one a great deal of protection – in fact, Snape was practically invincible – but lately he was unsure if it was worth the price. Snape had never liked kids, even when he was a kid. They always seemed to loud. Too stupid, too snotty, oddly sweaty and extremely irrational. Everything Snape resented.

It only got worse as he aged and became less and less of a child. Now he was in his thirties, and regarding children with disdain previously unfathomable. This year was particularly bad because Harry oh-so-special Potter was at Hogwarts. Little arse went right ahead and made himself a House, then neglected to attend any classes at all.

At least Snape rarely had to see the boy. In fact, he'd spied him only once or twice since the Sorting Ceremony, so maybe this year wasn't _too-_

Oh, Merlin, Harry Potter had decided to attend his classes.

Potter went and made himself comfy beside a delighted Gryffindor girl – a book-smart Muggleborn by the name Hermione Granger. Snape had recently been taking a liking to her, as she was bright and actually happy to pay attention is class, but now that he knew she was on good terms with _Harry Potter..._

His lip curled into a snarl as the bell tolled and class began. The pupils fell silent as Snape arose, a silhouette against the blackboard behind him, looming over their prepubescent heads. He grabbed a thin piece of chalk and began writing upon the board in swift, spidery letters. Snape made sure it was extra-dramatic. Potter had to understand that, no matter what promises he had made to Dumbledore, Snape hated him. If he could communicate this through how vehemently he wrote, than it would be a good day for Severus Snape.

"Today, I had planned for all of you _ludicrous fools _to attempt brewing a moderately simple potion," Snape began in a rumbling voice, putting careful emphasis on all of his syllables, "but seeing as how the..." Here he turned to face the class. "..._ esteemed_ Mr. Potter has finally decided to _grace _us with his awe-inspiring presence..."

"You're making me blush," Harry stated, actually blushing a bit.

Snape prattled on as if no interruption had occurred. "... I believe we should try something special."

Hermione looked over-the-moon at the notion of "something special" in Potions class, but she was alone in this. Even the Slytherins looked rather sick. It was true that Snape would be forgiving, them being his of his own House and all, but they still didn't want to challenge themselves. At least not on their own terms.

Draco, ringleader of first-year Slytherins, spoke up. "I have an idea, Professor Snape," he said. "How about: Potter makes up for all the work he's missed the past few weeks, and we all do what you had planned for today?"

"I have an even better idea, Professor Snape," Neville piped up. Suddenly, all eyes were on him. Since first laying eyes upon Severus Snape, Neville Longbottom had been too terrified to even sit up straight in Potions. Needless to say, Snape was quite shocked by the boy's sudden burst of courage.

_Ugh, the foul stench of self-esteem, _thought Snape glumly, but before he could berate Neville, the young boy went on. "I think we should just forget Potions class altogether and talk about the New Religion," said Neville. His voice was growing in strength.

Everyone caught Harry's delighted giggle, but they were still too engrossed by Neville's sudden manifest of bravery. "Ten points from Gryffindor," snapped Snape, but Neville was not deterred.

He stood up and retrieved a few pieces of parchment from his robes. "The New Religion is a cult – to use a crude term – led by our _esteemed_ Mr. Potter. This New Religion promises prosperity, power, and knowledge," Neville read. His voice was firm and steady now, though his fingers shook with nerves.

"This is ridiculous," seethed Snape. "Another ten points from Gryffindor. Mr. Longbottom, if you do not _sit down _this very instant, I shall not hesitate to doll out a detention."

But Neville had gotten a taste of what it was like to have his way, to be heard, and he wasn't going to let it go so soon. "Shirk your present lords and masters, and swear yourselves to the all-powerful, always-watching Cipher. Your House system is flawed, your sports are a distraction from the truth, your leaders are sheep, and Heaven and Hell are on the brink of war. For the price of your soul, you could be on the victorious side," Neville continued.

Harry clapped as the Longbottom finished, and Neville sat down, looking rather pale but quite proud of himself. Snape gritted his teeth. "_Fifty _points from Gryffindor and..." He trailed off, glaring at Harry.

The boy smiled something charming – and frankly, a little unnerving – at Snape and supplied, "Cipher, naturally. Cipher House."

Snape scowled. "Longbottom, Potter, detention for both of you. _Moving on..."_ Snape went on to passive-aggressively lecture about the potion they would be brewing, thinking of how he would word this when he reported the incident to Dumbledore. Harry Potter, manipulating a meek boy into spreading propaganda during class... Surely the old fool couldn't ignore _that._

What Snape didn't realize was that Neville's episode was no mere one-time side-effect of having a weak will. A small fire was burning in the pit of Neville's stomach, and he loved the way it felt. And the other students could tell, and the other students' minds were reeling, and the other students started to think: _Neville Longbottom stood up to Professor Snape? For Potter's cult?_

Draco Malfoy, who had been raised to always seek power and influence and masters who can win, found this very interesting. Hermione Granger, who saw what Harry's influence did for Neville's self-esteem, was starting to rethink her previous stance on Harry's cult. Ron Weasley, who hated Snape, was already fantasizing about all the possible ways to hate Snape more effectively. And over the course of the day, little whispers would spread. Little rumors would mutate over the hours. They became tall-tales.

By supper, Pansy Parkinson was telling her friends of how Neville spat in Snape's face. By supper, Cho Chang was listening to a version wherein a duel broke out. By supper, Fred and George had fabricated a tale about Harry and Neville teaming up to knock Snape around, Muggle-style.

By supper, Harry had a good two-thirds of first-year souls in his pocket.

_All according to plan._


	9. Chapter Eight

"... Boy-Who-Lived or not, it stands that Potter is spreading propaganda through the school. He has instituted a _cult, _Headmaster. He's charging people their soul to join. I'm fairly certain that there's a clause somewhere that forbids such a thing," Snape rambled.

Dumbledore, who had been meticulously sorting colorful hard candies on his desk, looked up for the first time since Snape entered his office. "Severus, if I may ask, why bring Christmas into this?" the old headmaster inquired, looking genuinely concerned.

Genuinely concerned about what, Snape hadn't an inkling. It showed. "Ch-Christmas, sir?" parroted Snape.

"Well, you mentioned a Claus, so..." Dumbledore trailed off and sort of gestured with one hand, trying to communicate his train of thought without words.

It didn't work, so Snape just went right along. "Headmaster, all I'm trying to say is that Mr. Potter shouldn't be exempt from disciplinary action," Snape concluded. "I have him serving a detention with Mr. Longbottom after supper this evening, but I've done a little snooping and apparently his propaganda has seeped further than the dungeons. I caught a group of students painting an Illuminati triangle on the common room wall, and it's only been a day."

Dumbledore chuckled, but Snape could see that he'd finally reached him. "This does sound serious. It seems that Mr. Potter's detention was rightly served. However, I shall contact his guardian about this. Thank you for bring this to my attention, Severus," hummed Dumbledore.

Satisfied, Snape bowed his head and made for the door.

"Oh, and Severus?"

Snape paused, hand over the doorknob. "Yes, sir?" he prompted.

With a sweet smile, Dumbledore said, "In the future, I think it would be best if you keep Christmas out of school business."

Snape still had no idea what Dumbledore meant, but nodded anyway.

* * *

Dumbledore sat with his hands folded neatly on the tabletop, a report of Harry's propaganda-spreading, cult-instituting activities on his left, and a half-empty butterbeer on his right. Madam Rosemerta stopped by and asked if he wanted any greasy, fried food, but the headmaster politely declined.

Ten years ago, Lily and James Potter had been found dead in their home, their son nowhere to be found. Dumbledore had torn the Earth apart looking for him, alas, to no avail. It went without saying that the old man was anxious to see who'd been feeding the magical world's savior all these years. He knew his name was 'Bill Cipher', but as far as an address, occupation, or anything, Dumbledore hadn't a clue.

A few minutes later, Bill still hadn't shown. Their appointment was for twelve twenty-five. The idea was that they'd share lunch and discuss what to do with Harry. Currently, it was one o'clock and Dumbledore was still alone in the Three Broomsticks. The old man heaved a sigh, and was about ready to give up when it appeared Harry's guardian arrived.

Bill Cipher wasn't particularly tall or short, but very pale with fair hair parted to one side and falling over an eye. Dumbledore took note of the man's stylish sense of dress – a black suit, yellow vest and bowtie. He also sported a cane and top hat.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't Albus Dumbledore! Sorry I'm late. I was a little... busy," he said, removing his hat and sitting across from Dumbledore. He placed a sack of something on the table. It stank horribly – like rotten fruit and rotten meat all at once – and appeared to be leaking something.

Dumbledore cleared his throat and smiled. "Yes, that is correct. It's good to finally make your acquaintance, Mr. Cipher."

Bill smiled wide. Too wide. "I would wish that the feeling was mutual, but we all know what happens to people who make wishes."

Up close, Dumbledore noticed how unnerving his eyes were. One was golden, while the one mostly covered by his hair seemed to have been blinded. "Mr. Cipher," Dumbledore said, electing not to let the eyes get to him. "You are Harry Potter's guardian?"

"Oh, I'm lots of things," Bill Cipher responded airily. "I suppose some might say I'm the kid's guardian. It varies, from person to person, entity to entity. You know how it is. Takes all kinds, I guess."

_Entity to entity? _Dumbledore didn't comment on that, instead opting to get straight to the point. Something was wrong with this man. "Now, Mr. Cipher, I'm sure that my now it's reached your ears that Harry has made a bit of a splash. Of course, by 'a bit of a splash', I mean causing the institution of a fifth House and effectively making Hogwarts history," Dumbledore began. Mr. Cipher just nodded. "It seems, however, that he's having other students join his House with promises of wealth and power. One of our professors described it as a cult. He's charging students their souls, blood, and virginity to join."

At this, Bill broke out into booming bouts of laughter. Dumbledore watched with a patient smile. Everyone else in the Three Broomsticks looked on in either confusion, interest, or irritation, but their gazes weren't enough to make Bill settle down. Eventually, he got himself under control.

"Ah, Kid. He's such a showy guy, y'know? Blood _and _virginity? What's this, a soap opera?" snickered Bill.

"Aren't you at all concerned, Mr. Cipher?" Dumbledore asked directly.

Bill shrugged. "Concerned? Why should I be concerned? If anything, I'm amused. Blood and virginity... Ah, I'm telling that one to those meddling twins. Anyways," Bill said, standing, "I think this meeting has been a spectacular waste of time. Hey, tell Kid I wished him good luck with his first meeting tonight."

Dumbledore blinked. "Of course," he said, though in reality he was extremely befuddled.

"Good day to you, Headmaster. And remember-" He stopped only to pick up the smelly, oozing sack. "-_realityisanillusiontheuniverseisahologrambuygoldBYE!"_

Bill Cipher spun on his heel and disappeared in a poof of smoke. Rather unconventional apparating, but Bill Cipher wasn't a terribly conventional man.

Then, quite suddenly, Dumbledore's mind registered something he had said.

"_Hey, tell Kid I wished him good luck with his first meeting tonight."_

Dumbledore had to stop this.


	10. Chapter Nine

The room wasn't large, but the acoustics of it gave it the same expansive feeling that cathedrals had about them. Rows of red seats lead up to a stage, where a curtain was drawn. As Draco made himself comfortable, delighting in propping his feet up on the chair before him, he saw several other members of the New Religion popping up. They all tucked their portkeys/memos away in their cloaks. They'd all been instructed to wear a yellow or gold triangle somewhere on their person for the first official meeting. Draco himself had little gold equilaterals embroidered into the hemming of his cloak, but most others wore vastly more obvious – not to mention tacky – triangular accessories.

Gradually, the seats filled up, though most people chose to leave a free seat or two between each other. Draco especially, with his hulking gorilla bodyguards looming just one row behind him. Crabbe and Goyle's thickset faces and intimidating statue scared just about everyone else off.

Just about everyone, that is, except Hermione Granger.

"Hullo, Malfoy," she said lightly, walking directly at Draco and sitting right beside him.

Out of habit, Draco curled his lip back. "What in Merlin's name are _you_ doing here, Granger?" sneered Draco.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm in Harry's cult, too. You're not his only friend, you know," she replied sharply.

"Not here, I mean _here._ Right next to me. In my personal bubble. Getting your Muggle germs all over my robes," Draco said with a scowl.

Goyle tapped his shoulder. "Should we hex her, Draco?" he asked in a low voice.

"Don't bother," said Draco, waving his hand in a vaguely feminine, and quite authoritative, manner. "I'll just scrub myself raw when this is over."

Hermione smiled at Draco, to which he turned away and glared at no one and nothing in particular.

When all the seats had been filled, the lights suddenly went out. Muggle-borns, Hermione included, all thought that there must have been a blackout. Others assumed someone had forgotten how to magic. However, it quickly became apparent that the sudden darkness was wholly intentional. A singular spotlight lit the stage. Conversation died as Harry Potter himself pranced to the center.

Wand to his throat in a rather Dumbledore-esque sort of way, Harry smiled and ventured on to say, "Happy afternoon, one and all! Welcome to the very first meeting of the infamous New Religion. As you all know, I'm Harry Potter. However, that's only at Hogwarts. Here, I'd much prefer you refer to me by my formal title and chosen name, Highpriest Kid Cipher. Failure to do so will result in immediate Expulsion."

There were giggles at this. Draco chortled, until he saw the look on Hermione's face. Maybe it was her deep-seated and irrational fear of the word "expel," or maybe it was just because she knew Harry better than anyone else, but something about Harry's threat – nay, his warning – made Hermione anxious. Draco, one of the most perceptive firsties, took her furrowed brow as a hint, and sobered up.

Harry waited with a contented, if slightly mad, smile, and when the audience fell silent once more, he continued. "You do not all have titles now, but as we expand, your roles in the New Religion will become more clearly defined. For now there are only two authorities you absolutely must obey: myself, and our eternal overlord and patron of all things peculiar, our equilateral dictator, Bill Cipher."

Something about the way that name hung in the air made all the students in the room shift uncomfortably. Thus far, joining Harry's cult had felt like an adventurous joke – a game – but the weight he placed upon that name caused even the dullest to reconsider.

This wasn't for fun.

This was forever.

Draco tugged on his collar, eyes shifting nervously between Hermione and the empty seat on his other side. After several long, tense seconds, Harry clapped his hands together and began rocking back and forth on his heels, relieving the tension.

"By joining the New Religion, you swore your immortal soul to Bill Cipher. Eternal, unquestionable loyalty. This, I'm pleased to inform you, was the _smart_ thing to do," Harry said, beaming. "Here in the New Religion, you get boundless benefits for very little input. I'm sorry to say you can't meet our beloved leader yet – he's a very busy triangle – but you will eventually." In a much darker tone, Harry added, "Eventually."

On a much more cheerful note, Harry continued, "Until then, I, as Highpriest, will speak for Bill Cipher. Now then, are there any questions?"

For a while, everyone was silent, then Draco got bored and raised his hand. Harry called on him.

"Will we get to learn your weird magic?" he asked. Since day one, Harry had made a point of flaunting is grotesque brand of magic. It was likely some form of dark magic, definitely illegal, and certainly not taught anywhere on Earth. Once Draco had gotten over the initial shock, it became... fascinating.

Harry clapped like a pleased toddler. "Naturally! Bill's minions can't be incapable of holding their own in a fight to the death against hoards of Time Police! You guys would be really expensive to replace, I'll have you know." No one was sure who the Time Police were, or why they would be fighting to the death, or if Harry was even being serious. They all, as a hive-mind, elected not to ask for clarification.

Everyone in the room had a question, true, but something told them they wouldn't be getting a straight answer out of Harry. He didn't _do_ straight answers. They over-complicated things with how boring they were. Thus, everyone decided not to ask anything at all.

Pleased, Harry wasted no more time moving on to the next item. "Curtain!" he said loudly, and the red material behind him was pulled away to reveal four portraits.

"Now, I believe it's time for a lesson in hate," Harry purred. "These people, from left to right, are Stanley and Stanford Pines, Fiddleford McGucket, and Time Baby. These are the people we hate. We hate these people. These people would oppose Bill Cipher..."

Something about the lull of his voice, the way his words eased into their ears, made them all listen. The vibrations emitted from his mouth were just the right frequency, just the right balance of youthfulness and authoritative rumble to make them soak up his words completely. It wasn't hypnosis – a Muggle could do it – but it may as well have been.

The only ears among the crowd who weren't fazed by Harry's chocolaty voice were Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy.

The two shared a look of concern.


	11. Chapter Ten

"That will be all. Essays are due on my desk promptly at the start of class tomorrow. Failure to turn in two feet of parchment of adequate content will result in after-dinner detentions cleaning cauldrons," Snape said, as the forth year Hufflepuff/Gryffindor class scurried off. It was the last class of the day, so when the final dunderhead finally made himself scarce, Snape allowed himself to collapse into his chair and groan in sheer agony. Hufflepuffs, though not nearly as obtrusive as Gryffindors, were just as idiotic. The two houses combined was more yellow in a room than Snape had the mental capacity to handle.

That was why he always tried to pair Gryffindors with Slytherins, and Hufflepuffs with Ravenclaws.

But that year, Dumbledore was pushing some sort of "standard" and wanted to "break down House rivalries." Thus, Snape was forced to pair up some badgers and lions.

The result was a perpetual migraine.

With a sigh, Snape lifted himself from his chair and went to tidy up after his block-headed pupils. Bits of parchment littered the floor. With a sneer, Snape picked them up one by one. Growing up in the Muggle world, he had grown accustomed to using his hands for minuscule tasks such as this.

_More than any other wizard could manage,_ he thought absently.

Most of the bits of paper he picked up were short notes girls – and Cedric Diggory – had been passing back and forth during class. Snape scowled, glancing over them despite himself.

_Do you remember the principles?_

Snape didn't recognize the handwriting – probably because the student who wrote that particular message had never written their own essay in their life – but he recognized the response's lettering. Diggory, without a doubt. He could recognize that tidy scrawl a mile away.

_We'll talk later. Harry told us not to discuss this outside confidentiality, at least until he gives us the OK._

Snape rolled his eyes. Leave it to Potter to dictate what students may and may not talk about outside confidentiality- Wait, hold on.

As Snape dug through the scraps of paper on the ground, he realized with a growing feeling of dread that almost all these notes had something to do with Harry Potter and his cult. _What rank do you think you'll get? I can't wait to sink my teeth into that Time Baby. I wonder when we'll get to sacrifice a lamb? I saw Highpriest re-purpose every hole in Goyle's face – when do we get to do that? I hope we all get gold robes like Harry has._

A sickening feeling of dread was rising in Snape's guts. Oh Merlin. Oh God. Oh Jesus Christ in a cradle. Potter's cult was expanding, and fast. Snape found notes like this from almost all of his classes. If Harry Potter's influence had already spread this far, it was only a matter of time before he took over the whole world.

Snape paused. Took over the world? He shook his head, as if doing so would purge the radical notion from his head. This was an eleven-year-old boy, after all, not the friggin' Dark Lord. Harry Potter was just being a fool. Of course he wasn't interested in world domination. There was no way in wizard-Hell that that kid wanted to take over the world.

-O-

"That Kid wants to take over world," boomed Stanford Pines, slamming a six-fingered fist against the table, "in the name of Bill Cipher!"

Stanley and Fiddleford shared a sidelong look of confusion. "We know that, Ford," Stan said warily. "Now if you don't mind, can we return to our conversation about the maple syrup industry?"

"Maple syrup is a major asset of North American culture," added Fiddleford, trying his very best to be helpful.

Ford pinched the bridge of his nose, slightly red in the face. "Sorry, sorry. I've just been very worried-"

"Crazy," Stan muttered from the corner of his mouth, elbowing Fiddleford in the ribs. Fiddleford was not amused.

"-for the past few weeks. For years, Kid Cipher's been speaking for Bill and doing all that demon's dirty work for him. Now, out of nowhere, he's gone. Poof. Vanished. Like he was never here," Ford said. His expression darkened a bit, and he added, "Until recently, when Fiddleford saw him with that other little boy."

"Um, girl, actually. A preteen, brunette, British girl," corrected Fiddleford. "With huge front teeth. And a bowtie, like the Ciphers. Oh, but she was very polite. A bit disturbing, but polite."

Ford rolled his eyes. "Whatever. What I'm trying to say is that something isn't right."

Stan laughed, loud and robust. He smacked his knee, the table, and Fiddleford, then the table again, and Fiddleford twice for good luck and good measure, respectively. The two nerds of the trio glared at him as Stan gradually controlled his laughter. With a sniff, he finally said, "Sixer, I had to set up gnome traps last weekend because those pests keep getting into our crackers. Nothing's ever _right_ here."

Ford sighed. "Normality is relative, Stan. By the way, what did you put in those traps?"

Stan shrugged. "Just some cheese. I figured they're like rats, right?" said Stan, frowning a bit. "Why, does it matter?"

A nervous glance was exchanged between Ford and Fiddleford. Stan's eyes shifted between them, the furrow of his brow increasing as the seconds ticked by. Suddenly, all at once, the entirety of the gnome infestation keeled over inside the walls, and expelled gases into the air through their posteriors.

It was putrid.

The three of them bolted from the house, gagging and coughing and rolling around the grass outside. It was Ford who recovered first, adjusting his glasses with one of his extra fingers. "Euh, Stan, you idiot," he gagged. A deer stood in the trees, staring at them. Ford glared at it and it scuttled away, emitting the deer equivalent of a terrified neigh.

"You just had to pick the town with the gnomes, didn't you, Sixer?" scowled Stan. "You couldn'ta picked the Arizona town with the strange hooded figures and the kid with two heads, huh? It just had to be the one with the perfect climate for _gnomes."_

Ford rolled his eyes and stood up, dusting off his trousers before helping Fiddleford stand. "Just use peanut butter next time, okay?" he pleaded, before turning his attention to the other intellectual party. "I've been thinking, Fiddleford: what if Bill has sort of let Kid go for a bit? Like a vacation?"

Fiddleford laughed a bit. "A dream demon from another dimension giving his acolyte a day off? That doesn't seem feasible."

"Maybe, but I have a theory... of a sort," Ford said, getting "that gleam" in his eye. He spoke quickly and in a low voice, so Stan had to come closer and strain his ears to hear. "We've pretty much always known that Kid was Bill's avatar in this plane of existence. But what if Bill's training him to be more? To act as a servant or ambassador of his weirdness? This could be a test run to see if Kid Cipher's ready."

"If that's true," butted in Stan, "then that would mean Bill's plan would commence soon, wouldn't it?"

Ford opened his mouth, as if to contradict his brother, but shut it tight when he realized what Stan had actually said. "Well, yes. Basically this is cause for quite a bit of a lot of alarm," Ford conceded.

"Theoretically, say this – let's be honest – this _guess_ turns out to be true. What then?" Fiddleford asked.

Ford looked grimly toward the sky, causing both Stan and Fiddleford to look around, unsure of exactly what Ford was looking at. "Then we have to destroy Kid Cipher," he said, full of finality.

-O-

"We have to destroy Kid Cipher," said Hermione grimly, "at the next game of wizard chess."

Ron scowled. "Merlin, 'Mione, quite pretending like there's a "we" when it comes to wizard chess."


	12. Chapter Eleven

Ron cast a sidelong glance to the other parties in the group. It was actually kind of strange – a few months ago, if someone had told him he'd be engaging in "extra-curricular" activities with a mix of Slytherins, upperclassmen, and Professor Sprout, he'd have called them crazy. Now, on his way to meet with the rest of the cult in the Forbidden Forest, it seemed perfectly reasonable.

The cult didn't recognize petty House rivalries or barriers of age and status as anything at all relevant to their cause. What mattered was the heart. The heart, and how cold and devoid of remorse it was.

Ron smiled, though it was mostly hidden by the shadow cast by his hood. Cold and remorseless. He felt invincible.

And if Harry's cryptic announcement of their next meeting was anything to go by, he'd soon get a chance to see just how cold and remorseless he could be. As an eleven-year-old boy who was raised in an era of relative peace, Ron hadn't yet had a chance to truly demonstrate how ruthless he could be in a slow, agonizing fight to the death.

Hermione fell into stride with him, and Ron could only tell it was her because her bushy hair stuck out of her hood. "Hey, Weasley," she said from the corner of her mouth, "any clue what Harry's got in store tonight?"

Ron shrugged. "How the bloody hell should I know? You're his best friend. You and Malfoy and I guess Professor Sprout." The two of them craned their necks to see Sprout, trotting along behind a few third-years, having an animated conversation with Cedric Diggory. Full-body cloak or no, Diggory's physique was impossible to mistake.

Hermione chewed her thumbnail somewhat nervously as they trotted into the forest. Their path was marked by red splatters of ambiguous origins, though the telltale scent of copper and human suffering implied it certainly wasn't ketchup. Deep into the Forbidden Forest they ventured, three dozen or so hooded figures, bound together by a mutual interest. They were one group of many.

The New Religion had spread far and it had spread quickly. Now they were going to get down to business.

They entered into a clearing, which until recently had been filled with trees. Now, all that remained was scorched earth and many a stump. In the center, there stood a proud, golden shrine to their eternal overlord, Bill Cipher.

Ron's group, along with others who filled the clearing, hunkered down for a spectacle. There wasn't much going on in the way of conversation, other than a few clusters of people who were going over the principles of hate, and the targets of their inexplicable rage. The Pines brothers, McGucket, and Time Baby.

The very thought of Time Baby and his adorable, squishy, revolting face made Ron want to throw up and scream at the same time.

All idle noise in the clearing died abruptly, as out of nowhere, space itself was torn open. A portal had opened up – dark and murky and red inside – and out popped Harry Potter. Out popped Highpriest Kid Cipher.

"Good evening, everyone! Didja miss me? Admit it – you missed me!" Harry greeted them, winking knowingly at the crowd. He took a deep bow before the shrine of Bill Cipher, and a wave of "Guten Abend, Highpriest" and "Hullo, Harry" sounded from the cultists. Harry was adorned in expensive-looking gold robes, designed to flare out dramatically at the bottom. It made him vaguely resemble a triangle.

Ron himself wore a triangular pendant, but he felt like it wasn't enough, comparatively speaking.

They took the first three minutes to sing hymns of Bill Cipher's glory.

"_He sens kno heps, he sens kno heps, he sens kno heps, he sens kno heps!"_ they all sang in unison. Ron didn't know if it was Latin, or a language older still. He imagined it was the first words mankind managed, though it might have also been a secret message – a backwards one, perhaps.

In any case, the three minutes passed, and by the end of it, Ron's voice was hoarse.

"Children of the New Religion, the night has come," Harry started, clasping his hands as if in a prayer, though everyone knew Harry answered only to one god – Bill Cipher. Bill, Bill, Bill, Bill! "I know it's early – I know lots of things, of course – but our eternal godlord of the universe has deemed you ready. It's time for... the Horrible Determining of the Pecking Order."

It sounded fairly self-explanatory, so instead of inquiring after the goal of the Horrible Determining of the Pecking Order, Ron raised his hand and asked, "What would you have us do?"

Harry's grin was unnervingly wide, and showed off far too many teeth that all looked far too pointy. Madness, some kind of wretched, inhuman glee, twinkled in his eyes. Ron got a twisty feeling in his gut that no one would come out of the Great Determining the same way they'd entered it.

"This forest is full of mystery," Harry said airily, sagely, gazing now into the distance. "Short version: you are to go into the trees and slaughter all living creatures you find there. You are to take their heads and bring them to me. The amount of heads you return with will determine your place in our Pecking Order."

Harry looked around, making sure that his numerous cultists had understood his words. "You have until dawn. Anyone not present before their pile at that time will be _violently removed_ from the cult." A heartbeat passed, and he bowed his head. "Begin."

Thus, madness spread through the forest like blood blossoming from an exit wound. Fast, steady, in all directions, and fatal.

Ron had never felt so alive.

-O-

"Well, well, well well, wellwellwell," hummed Bill, materializing beside Harry. They watched the children, teens, and Professor Sprout gallop into the woods, screaming wordlessly to express their bloodthirsty, basic, human desire to _kill._ "Quite a crowd you've manifested here. I haven't seen a bunch this crazy since... oh, snap! Not since the C'thakta-Nul Slaughters of 1840B6." Bill laughed, a sound that echoed and rattled and sounded far too pleased by the memory of bloodshed. "That was fun."

Harry gave a jovial chuckle in agreement.

"Whoa, killjoy at six o'clock," Bill said suddenly. Harry turned around to see Hermione, accompanied by Draco, walking somewhat hesitantly towards them. Bill shifted his gaze to Harry. "Looks like we got some _naysayers_ on our hands."

Harry sighed. _Naysayers._ They were never any fun.

"Harry, we need to talk to you," Hermione started, sparing Bill naught but a single, anxious glance. Draco, on the other hand, stared with his mouth agape and his eyes wide. Befuddlement.

Harry had taken a seat on a stump not far from Bill's shrine. "Whatever you need, luv," he said, smiling amicably, though a certain degree of instability was still present behind his glasses.

"Oh my Merlin! I killed a unicorn!" someone screamed from within the forest.

"Unicorn heads are worth two heads of anything else!" Harry shouted at the trees. His words were quickly followed by several people shouting about how they had to find more unicorns.

Hermione shuddered physically. "Harry, this is madness," she insisted.

"This is Sparta!" he insisted, loudly, hopping up to stare Hermione in the face.

She looked confused. "What does-?"

"Give it a few decades. Follow the cinema. What were you saying?"

Hermione looked like she was about to demand an elaboration, but shook her head and pulled her hood back. "Harry, you just sent nearly a hundred people into the forest and told them to- to _kill_ anything they could get their hands on," she said, putting emphasis on the second part of her sentence. "I just think, you know, this whole thing has gone a little bit of a lot too far."

Harry blew a loud raspberry, disbelieving. "Too far?" he said, as Bill cackled at the very notion. "Dearest Hermione, this is just to determine the Pecking Order! Wait until you see what comes _next!"_

She looked green in the moonlight. "I..." She took a deep breath. "I don't want to see what's next. And neither does Draco."

"Huh?" Draco finally looked away from Bill, taking on the appearance of a deer caught in headlights.

"Oh, of course you want out of this, don't you, Draco?" Hermione said. "It's really all crazy. A cult. That- that triangle there. Insanity."

"I have a name, you know," grumbled Bill. "I mean, Insanity isn't far off, but it's sort of completely different in every feasible way. Other than that your stupid human mouths are capable to pronouncing it properly."

"Draco, do you really want out?" Harry asked.

"No, no. My father taught me to follow power. It's the only way to get ahead in life," Draco shrugged. "Speaking of, Mr. Triangle, could you teach me to do that thing Harry does where he pulls goat limbs out of his navel instead of lint? He was doing that at dinner and it's just _the coolest thing-"_

"Draco!" gasped Hermione.

"Hermione!" snapped Draco.

"Bill Cipher!" said Bill Cipher.

"I don't understand, Hermione," Harry interrupted. "Why would you want out? I mean, I know this _looks_ barbaric, but I assure you that it's completely necessary for the greater good."

"Oh, sick, I'm completely covered in centaur entrails!" they heard someone shout from the forest. "And they taste _delicious!"_ A first-year ran through the clearing with a horse leg in one hand, chasing after a spider, which was hissing and screaming for mercy.

Hermione glared at Harry.

"Okay, maybe by _boring people _standards, it's a bit much," Harry conceded. "But I swear, it'll all pay off soon! We're, ultimately, _helping_ people!"

Bill laughed. "That's a load of unicorn innards!" he giggled.

Cedric came into the clearing, and dumped the heads of two bears and a unicorn into a pile. "Hello, Granger!" he said, grinning. His mouth was bleeding – that, or he'd bitten into something's flesh. In any case, blood coated his otherwise-pearly teeth, and ran down his chin. "You ought to get in on this! Oh, but watch out for the mysterious hooded figure – there's some creep running around the forest. I found him eating a unicorn! But I don't think he's with us. He wasn't even decapitating it, just, like, _drinking it, _the sicko. Is that _Bill Cipher?"_

"The one and only, Spare Meatsack!" confirmed Bill. "Now get back to slaughtering innocent creatures to prove your worth to my cause!"

"Yes, milord!" chirped Cedric, giving a wee bow before scuttling back into the woods.

Hermione turned back to Harry, intent on berating him for how he abused his influence, but her mouth snapped shut when she saw him tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Some creep eating unicorns – without us?" Harry said in a low voice. "Well, well, well. It seems my _old friend_ has decided to go on a midnight stroll in the Forbidden Forest. Hermione – Draco – make yourselves useful and make sure nobody messes with anyone's pile but their own. Bill?"

"Nah, Kid, I think you can handle him. I'm gonna go back to Gravity Falls and see what ol' Sixer is up to," Bill said, his tone lax. He tore open a rift in spacetime, from which many screams bellowed and many more trendy pop singles sounded. The sound of pure human suffering. "Oh, and don't buy anything from wolves! I know they all sound persuasive, but I tried their stuff once, and frankly, it was like huffing a banana."

With that, Bill disappeared, heedless of Draco's shrill objection. "You haven't shown me any tricks yet!" shrieked Draco as the rift in spacetime closed up.

"It's okay, Draco. I'll show you how to do the navel-limb trick tomorrow," Harry assured him, before fleeing into the forest with a group of firsties who'd just returned with several spider heads.

Hermione glared at Draco as he waved goodbye to their Highpriest. "This is ridiculous," she grumbled.

"I know. You'd think with all the time he wastes, he'd find an opening to show me a party trick or two," Draco drawled.

Hermione punched his arm and Draco nearly started crying. "Hey, what the heck?" he whined. No one ever punched him. It hurt. Hermione's fists were small and compact, thus the force of her blow was concentrated in a small area and hurt that much more. Also, Draco had a very low pain tolerance. "I was joking! Of course this is ludicrous – but what's even more ludicrous is thinking that Harry would just go along with whatever bleeding-heart Christmas-special humane moral-high-ground speech you throw at him."

That piqued Hermione's interest. "What do you mean?"

By now, Draco had recovered from the blow, but he still rubbed his arm as he spoke. "What I mean is, you have to be subtle. Play by his rules, learn how he thinks, then when he trusts you completely..."

"Manipulate him?" gasped Hermione. "Draco, that's low!"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Call it whatever you will, but is a little bit of psychological meddling really more messed up than – well – than this?" He gestured to the clearing, which was filling up with more and more disembodied heads. Hermione had a sinking feeling in her stomach. Of course Draco was right. He was the only other first year who could compete mentally with Hermione, and her sole ally in her mission to pull Harry's head out of his arse.

"I get what you mean," she sighed. "But I'm no good at being dishonest with people. Surely you know that?"

Draco laughed, a soft little chuckle that Hermione found extremely patronizing. "Granger, Granger, Granger. It's not _dishonesty:_ it's problem-solving. I think it's high time you learned the difference."

A series of loud, wordless wails sounded from the forest, and above all, they heard delighted cackling on Harry's behalf. Draco and Hermione hunkered down below the shrine, now speaking in hushed voices and watching the pupils and one teacher scuttle across the clearing from time to time.

They were discussing ways they could subtly convince Harry not to be a nut anymore.

-O-

Snape watched, transfixed in a mixture of disbelief and disgust, as Ronald Weasley pounced at a centaur and sunk his teeth into its neck. The centaur screamed, pleading with the heavens above to send help, to get this savage ginger off of it, but it was too late. The boy had already twisted its neck in an unnatural direction, successfully felling the beast. With deft, blood-soaked hands, Ronald Weasley whipped out his wand and muttered something – a simple cutting curse, Snape assumed – and in a moment he had the centaur's decapitated head in hand.

Whistling, the ginger sauntered off, intending to go end more lives, doubtlessly.

Snape, who was safely perched in the branches of a tree and obscured by the shadows, breathed in and out slowly. He was trying to understand what he'd just seen. And calm his churning stomach.

An eleven-year-old boy, from a respectable (if annoying) family, just leaped at a sentient being and killed it - him - taking his head as a trophy.

Now, Severus Snape had never been sheltered, coddled, or had anything sugar-coated for him in his life, and had dealt with some of the most effed-up people the wizarding populace had ever spat out. But with a dawning sense of horror, Snape realized he wasn't dealing with anyone or anything that the wizarding populace was responsible for:

Demons. Or something dark and taboo like that.

He gulped. Harry Potter.

Albus couldn't ignore _this._


	13. Chapter Twelve

Quirrell limped along through the underbrush, his leg twisted at an odd angle, shivering in the cold. His master was violently berating him on the back of his head.

"It's not my fault, master!" whimpered Quirrell, leaning against a tree, breathing heavily. "How was I supposed to know that the Diggory boy was a cannibal?" He glared at his arm, which had a rather large gnash in it, courtesy of Cedric Diggory's powerful jaw.

"_You are a fool! You cannot even protect yourself against a child!"_ hissed Voldemort. "_I ought to cut you, to curse you, to break you and cause you incomprehensible amounts of pain!"_

"You might not have to go to the trouble, ol' Voldy boy." The crooning voice came from the branches above, and Quirrell started, scampered, and nearly screamed as Harry Potter jumped onto the ground. He gave Quirrell and Voldemort a pleasant smile, but it was tainted. It was the dirty smile of someone who simply _existed_ to cause others pain. From the looks of his expression, he was about to start existing.

"Funny meeting you here, Professor," Harry said, stretching his arms and back. "You a fan of midnight strolls and the sound of slaughter? Goodness knows I am."

Quirrell sputtered. "Harry Potter!" he managed.

"It's Kid Cipher when I don't like you, Quirinus. Please, let me converse with Moldy-Shorts?"

Quirrell muttered something to the effect of "Don't call him 'Moldy-Shorts'," but removed his hood and turned around so that the two powers could speak face-to-face.

"What did I tell you?" Harry demanded shortly. "Wait on the back of his head – _quietly_ – until I construct a decent body for you to inhabit. What's so complicated about that, really? _Really?"_

"_You waste my time. It's been weeks since our deal – and what is there to show for it? I've been receiving letters from Bellatrix Lestrange, prattling on and on about our – our _honeymoon. _Explain that, Kid Cipher,"_ Voldemort rambled, saying Harry's name with particular disgust. Weeks ago it was when Harry Potter busted Bellatrix Lestrange out of prison. Since then, she'd done nothing but fawn over Voldemort, send him love letters, chocolates, and hand-drawn pictures of snakes. Harry wasn't even sure if she'd practiced her gnarly new dementor powers yet.

Harry crossed his arms and huffed. "Patience is a virtue. And besides, you've interrupted the Great or Horrible Determining of the Pecking Order. Have you _any_ idea how dangerous that is? Neville Longbottom could have had your head, you know."

Voldemort scoffed. "_Neville Longbottom? A mere boy. A runt. Practically a Squib."_

"He's only human, but human beings are capable of particularly horrifying feats," Harry said, with no small degree of wisdom. "Not anything near as horrifying as what I do on a daily basis, when no one's looking, but still quite horrifying."

Quirrell shifted uncomfortably, wishing this confrontation to be over and done with. His master, it seemed, shared the feeling. "_This is a waste of time. My vessel is wounded and I would rather Quirrell not die of an easily-treated infection,"_ Voldemort said irritably. "_Get to your end of the bargain and get me a body, or the deal is off."_

Harry's smile slipped off his face, replaced by an expression so vacant, yet so furious, that it could freeze fire and shatter steel. He spoke his next words slowly, dangerously, with the care of a trapeze artist and hostility of a wild animal.

"The contract is forever, Riddle. There is no calling it off."He spoke again with his usual tone of offhanded humor and general instability. "But yes, I do think we're done here. Just remember your place, Lord Voldemort – pecking order! Now scat, before I get sick of looking at your hideous face. Yech, you're like an inverted toilet bowl with eyes and anger management issues."

So Quirrell scat, pulling up his hood and whining a bit at the pain in his forearm, where Cedric had bit him.

Harry smiled as he watched him go, pleased by how easily he had sent the two-in-one buffoon away. Though in all seriousness, it was really time for him to fulfill his end of the bargain. He didn't really feel like doing that until after the First Human Sacrifice of Many, though. Which brought him back to Bellatrix...

Harry heard a human scream – a loud, shrill, delicious series of vibrations – and a barbaric war-cry. The scream was silenced, echoing through the forest, and Harry giggled. About time. Whomever was responsible for _that one_ was definitely going up, up, up the pecking order.

The ability to heartlessly take the life of another human being, who until recently was one's brother, was an excellent skill.

-O-

Einar Lunaires was of Japanese heritage, an Auror, and sitting in Dumbledore's office. One of those things was not connected to the other two.

Also in the room was Severus Snape, who wore a severe expression with his jaw firmly clamped shut and his lips pursed, and a Hogwarts student in her final year who boasted the peculiar name "Nymphadora Tonks." The latter stood a few paces to the former's left, with her hands clasped behind her back, and her hair hued green to match the sickly color of her skin. Tonks – as she preferred to be called – was nervous.

And why should she not be? Albus Dumbledore had summoned her to his office to meet with himself, an esteemed professor, and an Auror. Tonks tried to control her appearance so as not to betray her anxiety, but she didn't quite manage it.

Lunaires drummed his fingers against his knee somewhat impatiently, while Dumbledore solemnly sipped his tea and they all watched the clock. He'd offered the beverage to everyone, but everyone had turned him down.

"Now, Mr. Lunaires," began Dumbledore at long last, "I am sure you're eager to begin your assignment-"

"I am," snapped Lunaires, his eyes flashing.

"-but there's some drudgery to get to first," finished the headmaster, as if Lunaires hadn't rudely cut in as he had. "First, there is the exact nature of this particular case: bear in mind, you are investigating the Boy-Who-Lived, who, according to Professor Snape, is heading a cult. This had lead to the loss of most wildlife in the Forbidden Forest, along with a few fellow students. First degree murder, Mr. Lunaires."

Lunaires didn't look impressed – in fact, he looked as if Dumbledore were talking about which washing machine he wanted to buy. Or whatever the wizard equivalent of that was. Tonks, despite being raised with magic and Muggle stuffs, still had yet to find the exact equivalent of washing machine banter in the wizard world. Sometimes it frustrated her.

Dumbledore almost looked miffed that Lunaires wasn't taken aback by his words. Almost. Dumbledore didn't do "miffed." He only knew "moderately condescending in a warm, grandfatherly manner." And he was going to town with it now.

Snape, in stark contrast, looked positively livid. Sounded like it, too. "Mr. Lunaires, you understand that this is children being brutally murdered by children on Harry Potter's whim?" seethed Snape, his eye twitching. Tonks marveled at Snape's intense eye-twitching abilities. He was the envy of every mentally-unstable housewife across time.

Lunaires made a loud "pff-shaw" noise and rolled his eyes. "Kids killing kids, whatever. All I smell is a cult, and cult-busting's my forte. Professor Dumbledore, you leave this to me. Your little cult problem will be solved in a fortnight, trust me."

Dumbledore smiled in a moderately condescending in a warm, grandfatherly manner sort of way. "You have my absolute confidence, Mr. Lunaires. However, before you get to work, there's someone I'd like you to meet. Ms. Nymphadora Tonks."

Here, Dumbledore gestured to Tonks. She started, having almost forgotten – except for a twisty sort of gut feeling – that she was involved in this meeting. "Sup," she said, masterfully coming off as relaxed and perhaps-stoned, as was the Hufflepuff way.

Lunaires jutted his chin at her. "Sup," he replied, in a similar manner, before turning back to Dumbledore. "What's with the sick kid with the bad dye-job?"

Dumbledore smiled un-condescendingly at Tonks and she got the hint. She furrowed her brow and expertly gave herself a multicolored afro, vibrant pink skin, and a duck bill. Lunaires only raised his eyebrows a bit, and Snape looked sick. Many a class of his had been disrupted by Tonks's little talent.

"Sweet, a metamorphmagus. I can have a neon version of Merlin to spy for me," drawled Lunaires. He stood abruptly and popped his back audibly, making Snape's eye twitch again. "Well, if that's it, then I'll go have a look-see around the Forbidden Forest with Nymph Forks there. C'mon, Forks."

"It's Tonks," sneered Tonks, glancing at Snape to see if she'd get a nod of approval. It wasn't a nod, but Snape looked like he wanted her to give Lunaires a hard time. Their eyes locked and they shared a moment of understanding. Neither liked Lunaires, but it was necessary to work with him. But just because they had to work with him, didn't mean they had to be all _pleased_ about it.

Of course, Tonks had better things to worry about now. As she followed Lunaires out of Dumbledore's office, she tried to process this new information. Potter's cult was killing people? She'd heard about the New Religion, obviously – who hadn't? – but she'd figured it was more of a little kid type club that Professor Sprout was humoring.

Tonks sighed inwardly as she trailed a few paces behind Lunaires. As if her NEWTs weren't enough.

She kept the multicolored afro, pink skin, and duck bill.


End file.
